These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel (7 page)

Tuffins ascended the main stairs. “Miss Kent has asked me to bring you upst—”

“Ev-e-lyn!” a voice chirped from the floor above.

I braced myself for the attack as Laura bounded down the stairs. Less fifteen-year-old girl and more pure energy that somehow took a human shape, she had the perpetual look of being about to fly
apart at the seams: hair clinging for dear life, loose ribbons ready to untie, stockings half unfurled.

“I got tired of waiting!” she announced, embracing me tightly, her head tucked below my shoulders. She was almost my height, but the way she hugged me suggested she still
hadn’t quite adjusted to that. “Ooh, I hope you’ll stay for a while. It’s been so dreadfully boring without you or Nick here! I tried to get Tuffins to hire a French spy or
a man with a mysterious sort of scar, but our new footman is neither!”

“Sorry to disappoint, my lady,” Tuffins put in, leading us back up the stairs.

“You’re quite lucky Miss Wyndham’s arrival saved you!” she told him, then turned to gaze at me in her alarming, wide-eyed way. “Nick’s message sounded ever so
distressing and urgent! What’s happ—wait! First, you must surprise everyone!”

“Surprise everyone? Laura—wait, did you even tell your mother I was comi—”

Before I could get in another word, Tuffins gently knocked and opened the drawing room door. “Miss Kent and Miss Wyndham,” he announced as Laura pulled me inside to see two
unwelcoming faces.

“How unexpected,” an acerbic voice spoke first. It belonged to Lady Kent, the grave, small woman sitting on a Chesterfield by the fire. Though she could not have been more than five
and forty, her bad back and knees gave her the weary look of a woman thirty years older, and she spoke with the same uncaring bluntness of one. “I did not know you were in town, Miss
Wyndham.”

“Mama, I meant to surprise you,” Laura said, her pert nose scrunching up.

“You know I find surprises vulgar,” Lady Kent said, waving her hand dismissively and shifting her gaze to me. “You are acquainted with Miss Madeline Verinder, I
presume?”

“Good evening, Miss Verinder,” I said, exchanging curtsies with the sweetest, gentlest, most accomplished, and most amiable girl in all of London. At least that is what I had
continually repeated to myself the past season, so I wouldn’t slap her by sheer reflex whenever she entered my conversations with Mr. Kent and turned them into competitions for his
attention.

“A pleasure to see you, Miss Wyndham,” Miss Verinder said, with the slightest dip in her sugary twitter of a voice. She must have been eagerly anticipating Mr. Kent’s arrival,
only to get me instead. “What brings you back to London?”

Fortunately, the train ride had given me ample time to create a sound story. I settled into the chair beside her. “My sister came to visit our dear aunt and uncle, so I thought it a fine
opportunity to visit Laura as I had promised her.”

“You’re staying here, then?” Lady Kent snapped out.

“I—I had hoped to,” I replied as humbly as I could, nervous that our flimsy plan would fall through before it was even implemented.

Lady Kent let out a strange, gruff harrumph, which, judging by Laura’s giddiness, somehow translated into acquiescence.

But Miss Verinder’s rosebud lips curved into a perfect smile and let the thorns loose. “Why, I thought you were in town to nurse one of your patients.”

What a lovely and thoughtful girl.

My hands balled up into fists, and I stuffed them into my lap. Refusing to meet Lady Kent’s disapproving eyes, I peered at Miss Verinder’s and searched for signs of malice.
“No, that is only for close acquaintances in Bramhurst,” I insisted.

“Lady Wyndham still permits this?” Lady Kent sneered.

“Only as a charitable hobby of ours,” I said.

Lady Kent rubbed her aching knees and shook her head. “A hobby is an activity done at one’s leisure—an occupation is done at another’s. Since nurses are called upon at
all times of day, it is by nature an occupation, and a highly inappropriate one at that for two respectable girls.”

I bit my tongue, resisting the thousand retorts in my head. I needed to stay in Lady Kent’s good graces. With a herculean effort, I managed to even (Rose forgive me) agree with her.
“That is true. We’ve tried to keep it a hobby, but it’s rather difficult.”

“Impossible, I’d say,” she concluded.

An awkward silence settled over the room until Laura attempted to rescue me. “Oh, Mama, can we get Evelyn an invitation to tomorrow’s dinner? Don’t they need another for the
table? It will be such fun! And there’s the Lyceum Theatre on Thursday and our dinner party on Friday! She can meet Mr. Edwards. Evelyn, you will absolutely die when you meet him. But
remember, please, that I saw him first and you have other—”

“Laura, enough,” Lady Kent interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose, pained by her daughter’s enthusiasm.

Miss Verinder tucked a blond curl behind her ear. “Yes, my parents have a box for
Much Ado About Nothing.
Will you join us?”

I wished Laura had let me explain matters before rushing me in here. There was no time to be wasted on dinner parties and plays. “I don’t wish to intrude on any plans,” I said.
“I don’t mind missing the play.”

“Why, you must come at least this time,” Miss Verinder insisted. “I did not see you at the theater much during the season.”

Lady Kent scoffed, and the fire seemed to snap in agreement. “In my experience, those who avoid the theater suffer from an excess of drama and scandal in their own lives.”

Heavens, was Miss Verinder doing this on purpose? Or was there just no pleasing Lady Kent? I had not been here five minutes, and she was already trying to glare me out of the city.

“We’re often most selective when it comes to our favorite things,” I returned. “I would so love to come.
Much Ado
is a favorite of mine.”

Lady Kent pursed her lips and assessed me as if she were searching a dress for imperfections in the stitching, while Miss Verinder’s eyes lit up with delight or deviousness or both. I was
bracing myself for the next potential disaster when a miraculous knock on the door interrupted, and in walked my rescuer.

“Nick!” Laura exclaimed, darting across the room to tackle him with a hug. Miss Verinder began smoothing her dress excessively.

“Hello, Kit!” Mr. Kent said with a laugh. He returned the hug and glanced about the room. “Good afternoon, everyone. Ah! Miss Wyndham, you seem to have beaten me here. What is
your secret?”

“Taking the earlier train, sir.”

“A radical choice,” he said, nodding profoundly, “yet elegant in its simplicity.”

“That sounds like a code to live by.”

“Yes, though I find the best codes are the ones you die by.”

“Seeing as I am the only one unaware of Miss Wyndham’s visit,” Lady Kent interrupted, “we’ve unfortunately had our tea already. Miss Wyndham, you are hungry, no
doubt. Laura, take her to the kitchen and see what they can prepare. Nicholas, please sit.”

She rang a bell, and Tuffins promptly appeared at the door to escort us. As Laura and I left the room, Miss Verinder beamed brightly, as if she’d won some pivotal battle. She turned to her
spoils. “Welcome back, Mr. Kent. Did you miss London already? I understand Bramhurst can be a bit . . . slow.”

“Yes, but that makes it the perfect place to settle down,” I heard him say. “Speaking of which, I don’t think I’ve eaten since leaving, myself . . .”

Moments later, he was catching up to us in the dining room.

“Thank you for getting us out,” I whispered to him. “I feared that would never end.”

“The old bat detests being left out of a conversation. Sometimes when she’s summoned me, I’ve resorted to talking to myself so I might be dismissed.”

“Well, if she didn’t dislike me already, she absolutely detests me now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied. “I could not conceive of a better recommendation of your character.”

In between bites of the blissful chicken and potatoes, we took the risk of explaining the crisis to Laura: the shocking events of Rose’s disappearance, the precursor of the past day, and
my plans for the search with Mr. Kent. She behaved as theatrically as I expected, gasping at each revelation, no matter how minor.

When I finished, she gripped my hand and nearly fell to her knees pledging her help to me. “Evelyn, I promise you, I will stand by you both through this. Tomorrow we will all search
together, and then there is the Pickfords’ dinner party in the evening! This is far too exciting! I’ve missed having a confidante to whisper to behind fans.”

“Kit, Miss Wyndham is having a difficult time of it, with her sister missing,” Mr. Kent said. “She is not here to have fun.”

“And I cannot afford the time to attend,” I added. “I have to refuse.”

“Nonsense! You mustn’t! Please, Evelyn? Say you will! I beg of you. And besides, you must at least make an appearance. If not, people will start wondering where you and your sister
are, and then someone might question your stories. Oooh! This is ever so tricky and secretive!”

Mr. Kent gave me a sympathetic look. “She does have a point.”

I couldn’t help but sigh in defeat. Somewhere in her gaspings, Laura had hit upon the hard truth. I had to keep up the pretense as long as possible. Prove to Lady Kent, to society, that
the Wyndham family was still intact and its girls still irreproachable.

Miss Verinder’s nettling comments made it a struggle to be polite, but Mother’s unwelcome voice resounded louder in my head. Our good name was all we had left. Not only did I have to
protect Rose but her pristine reputation, as well.

She would need a life to return to when we found her.

“W
HAT EXACTLY MIGHT
you mean by no?” I asked.

“I mean, miss, that my customers value their privacy and wouldn’t appreciate me sharing it willy-nilly with anyone who comes in off the street.”

“Then you don’t have to share the whole list with me. I’d just like to know if you’ve had any customers since yesterday purchase crushed linseed or linseed
oil.”

The druggist shook his head. “No.”

“No? You have not?” I asked.

“No, I can’t tell you,” he replied.

“Please, sir, believe me when I tell you it’s a matter of grave importance.”

“I’m sorry, can’t oblige you, miss.” He crossed his arms to make the decision final.

I stared at the druggist. He stared back. This was his shop. He had nowhere to go. I couldn’t waste the rest of the day trying to wear him down. I looked to the druggist’s two
apron-clad assistants. They immediately spun around and pretended to busy themselves with rearranging some shelves.

Hang it all, this wasn’t supposed to be the difficult part! First the doctors from the Medical Society and the Harveian Society barely answered our questions. They all told us that there
were too many hopeless cases in London, and they did not have the time to help narrow our search. And now these druggists were guarding valuable Crown secrets? Could no one in this damn city
provide a simple piece of information?

With a sigh, I turned to the exit when the bell jangled, and in walked Mr. Kent with Laura behind him.

“Nothing from mine,” he said. “Any exciting information here?”

“Only that he thinks their sales log is none of our business.”

He frowned. “Oh. Well, that won’t do at all, will it?” He took off his hat and floated down the narrow aisle of glass cases to the druggist at the back counter. “Hello,
Mr. . . . Mortimer, is it?”

“Yes, sir, but as I told the young lady—”

“Do you have a daughter, Mr. Mortimer?”

“Yes, I do, but I don’t see—”

“Imagine if, God forbid, little Miss Mortimer went missing today. Would you scour the city, searching day and night, imploring any gracious citizen who might possess the slightest bit of
information to help you find her?”

“Why, yes—”

“Then please take this opportunity to be that gracious citizen and answer this question for us: Have you had any customers since yesterday purchase linseed?”

“No, sir. No one,” the druggist answered soberly, as if he, too, was disappointed by the answer.

Mr. Kent put his hat back on. “Ah, well, that was all we wished to know. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Mortimer. I shall send all my sick and dying acquaintances here, should they ask
for a recommendation. Good day.”

“Good day!” Laura added kindly, unnecessarily.

And just like that, we had the answer and were back outside, the city bustling around us. As we crossed the road toward the next shop on the block, Mr. Kent whistled a tune, and I could hold my
tongue no longer. “How in heaven’s name did you do that?”

“Well, first you might notice the shop was called Mortimer’s, rather than Mortimer and Son’s, but the man wore a wedding ring and didn’t look portly enough to own a
successful shop
and
be childless. So you might look for signs of a daughter and find the display case in the back holding two dolls dressed to fit the distinctive tastes of two little
girls. They were English wax dolls from the craze of 1876, but one wore a hat that was fashionable in 1879, which might make you wonder why one was more neglected than the other. The answer to that
is sitting in a vase containing lilies and cypress, which any flower girl worth her salt will tell you means innocence and mourning the dead. So mentioning Mr. Mortimer’s daughter would
arouse his emotions for both the tragically deceased one and his precious living one.”